by M. J. Scott
"Just what?" he prompted.
"You'll think I'm being silly."
"Sophie, love. You are many things, but silly is not one of them." Maybe that wasn't strictly true. When he'd first become aware of Sophie at court, when she'd been one of the laughing, decorative, noisy group of ladies-in-waiting surrounding Eloisa, he'd assumed she was like most of them, a girl with fashion, romance, and ultimately, marriage on her mind.
The life the court ladies led was geared toward amusement. Not through any fault of their own, he saw now, but because the court at Kingswell didn't offer many options for high-born women. Even amongst Eloisa's ladies, the impression he'd formed of Sophie was of a young woman more quiet and serious than some of the others, but she'd still been part of the fizz of smiling females who served the crown princess. He had been focused more on Eloisa than any of the women who surrounded her all day.
But now he knew her. Every day, knew her deeper. Learning her in his bones. She had a keen sense of humor; she enjoyed herself when she could—even though there had been scant opportunity for that since they had married. But she was the opposite of silly. She was serious. Focused.
"Tell me," he said gently.
"Imogene has been kind to us. I know we don't owe her anything, but we will be leaving her to deal with some nastiness when we leave." Sophie flipped the trunk closed, and sat on it, shoulders slumped.
He hadn't expected that to be the objection. Guilt? Was that all there is. "I think Imogene is more than capable and can take care of herself."
"I don't want to make more enemies."
"Neither do I. But the Illvyans will be unhappy if we leave. We can't change that. So it has to be a price you are willing to pay." He moved behind her, pressed his thumbs into the tense lines of her shoulders. "I will admit, when we first were invited, I hoped it might be a way for the two of you to become closer. You should have friends."
"I have friends here. Lia. And Willem."
He didn't think that was quite the same. She'd been part of a band of women at home. He didn't know which of the ladies she'd been particularly close with, but she had to miss them. The students at the Academe that she was starting to form friendships with were nice, but they had less in common with Sophie than someone like Imogene. Sophie was part of the royal line. She knew aristocrats. She knew courts. She knew how they worked, even if Illvya was an unfamiliar one. Imogene also knew court life and its intricacies. But perhaps that was not to be. Nor would their connections to any of the people they'd met in Illvya get a chance to develop into something stronger. They'd be leaving them all behind.
"I'm not sure Imogene would want to be my friend anyway," Sophie said. "Any more than I'm certain we can fool her for long once we are alone with her. She's smart. Intimidating."
Another emotion he hadn't anticipated.
Not because the description of Imogene was incorrect, exactly, but Sophie had served a princess who'd become a queen. Eloisa had never been a shrinking violet. A mere duquesse shouldn't daunt anyone who'd served her.
"Intimidating how?"
"She's just... so sure of herself. She's a mage, she's beautiful, she's one of the emperor's favorites. She's one of those women." She waved a hand irritably. He pressed his thumbs deeper, willing her to relax.
"Those women?"
"Good at everything they do. All the time. Like Beata. No faults."
Lady Beata Talley, Eloisa's chief lady-in-waiting was a formidable woman but hardly without faults. She was far too fond of rules and her position for a start. Imogene du Laq didn't strike him as being the kind of stickler Beata was either. "I'm sure Imogene has plenty of faults," he said.
But he understood what Sophie meant. Imogene was extremely competent. But most of the women at the Academe were extremely competent. Illvya gave its women room to excel at more things than marriage and motherhood.
"There are plenty of people who would say you are very good at everything you do, too," he said.
"Me?" Sophie craned her neck around, eyes wide. "I've done nothing but make one mistake after another. I broke the one rule I was supposed to follow, ruined everyone's plans for me, nearly got killed—twice—and had to flee from my country to live with our deadliest enemies."
None of those things were her fault. But she blamed herself, he knew. And he didn’t know how to ease her guilt.
"To be fair," Cameron said, trying to ease the mood. "If you have to flee from Anglion there aren't many other places to go to other than toward our deadliest enemies."
She twitched out from under his hands, turning on the trunk to fix him with an irritated glare. "It's not funny."
"Not funny that we only have deadly enemies everywhere else in the world? It is somewhat funny, if you stop to think about it." He hadn't really, before now. Back home, the fact that Anglion needed to be protected at all costs from the empire had seemed like a matter of life and death. But really, repel all invaders was a ridiculous policy for an island kingdom. Once upon a time, when Anglion had had water mages of their own, perhaps it made sense. But now, without the strength that sanctii could add to their defense, if Aristides really wanted Anglion, Cameron couldn't see any way that the Anglions would be able to stop him.
"You're not funny," she said grumpily.
"You are. And that is only one of many things you do so well," he countered. "You're an earth witch. And a water mage. You formed a bond with me that no one quite understands. You've been a model student in a new country where you barely spoke the language. You have the respect of your teachers, and you've attracted a sanctii to your side. You're the woman who an emperor looks at and sees a potential queen."
Her eyes turned flinty. "I rather suspect the emperor sees a pawn."
"And is he right about that?"
"No." It was nearly a snarl, and he smiled.
"Well then, if Aristides doesn't intimidate you, I don't see why Imogene should."
"I didn't say he didn't intimidate me, just that he was wrong."
"He's human. So is Imogene, I'd imagine. You're more than a match for her. Besides, she has no reason to suspect we want out. If she did, she wouldn't have invited us."
"Aren't you concerned about what advantage she might be trying to gain from us?"
He nearly smiled. Sophie liked to think she didn't play political games, but she didn't miss much. He shrugged. "Maybe she isn't trying for anything. Maybe she is offering genuine kindness."
"Which we will reward by using her." Sophie sighed. "But I doubt it's that simple. She will be considering all the angles to getting to know us. It's what you do when you have her rank and her position. So we can't assume she wants nothing from us."
"No, but I'm not sure what we have to offer her in terms of advantage—not to mention that we won't be around to be used—so I don't think you should worry about that. It's not as though she can do us any harm while we are her guests. The emperor didn't take it kindly the last time someone tried to hurt us."
"Maybe he's the one who wants us out of the way," Sophie muttered. "And it's more convenient to have us vanish in the countryside.
"It seems a convoluted way to go about it. He could have disappeared us at any point up until now if that was his endgame. Besides which, he has a purpose in mind for you. He needs to keep you safe."
"Until he realizes that I really don't want to be queen."
"We'll be gone by then."
She looked unconvinced. "There are other people who want me out of the way. Imogene could be in league with one of them. The crown prince, for instance. He seems to despise me. He practically dragged me across the dance floor at the ball to make me dance with Sevan."
"Alain is a troublemaker. The kind of eldest son who makes his father wish for a change in birth order." Cameron agreed. "But Sevan failed, and the emperor has made it clear that you are under his protection. I don't think Alain's likely to try anything. He's not as smart as Aristides, as far as I can tell. And he knows he has siblings who could replace him
if he stepped out of line. Besides he's past thirty."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Sophie asked.
"They stuff us full of military history in the guard," Cameron said. "If a prince is going to try to overthrow his father, he usually tries to do it quite young. Older men who try for power are usually not directly in line for that power to begin with."
"Men like Imogene's husband?" Sophie said.
"I've heard no rumors that the duq is anything but loyal. Aristides isn't a tyrant or a bad ruler. Illvya has relative peace and stability. Why would the duq risk his current position?" He plucked Sophie off her perch on the trunk, gathered her into his lap on the end of the bed. Her body was tense in his arms, but she didn't try to wriggle free. "You can think of a thousand problems to worry about, but you'd do better to focus on what we want. We go with Imogene. We spend a few days working out the best way to leave. Then we leave, if that's our final choice."
She shivered. "You make it sound easy."
"It may not be. But so far, we've mostly succeeded at the hard things. I have faith in us."
When the sound of the carriage changed from the soft swish and rumble of the paved roads to the crunch of gravel, Sophie jolted awake.
"You dozed off," Cameron said as she lifted her head from his shoulder, blinking groggily.
Damn. She sat up, stretching surreptitiously to ease the stiffness in her neck. How long had she slept? So much for her good intentions to pay attention to their route along the journey.
They had left Lumia shortly after dawn. She'd managed to make polite small talk with Imogene as they'd rattled away from the Academe, but her stomach had churned with guilt and anxiety. The Academe was the closest thing she currently had to a home, and she might never see it again. Never see Henri or Madame Simsa. Or Tok. Or any of the others who'd been so kind to them.
They'd stopped along the road at a calle, as the Illvyans called an inn, to break the journey and have something resembling a light second breakfast. She remembered climbing back into the carriage again but then. . . nothing. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."
But Imogene, seated opposite, merely smiled. "Further proof that you need the rest we can provide."
"We should thank you again—" Sophie began to say, but the carriage began to slow.
"Thank the goddess, we are here," Imogene said, shifting forward on the seat. "Welcome to Sanct de Sangre."
Sophie pulled back the shade from the window—Cameron must have closed it while she had been sleeping and peered out. She'd prepared herself for a grand house, but the building that confronted her was closer to a palace.
Pale gray and white stone formed towers and wings and arched rows of windows. A flag, bright gold with a sea blue star above a red heart supported by two gauntleted hands, fluttered over the massive portico. The duq's coat of arms, presumably.
The house itself was too large to reveal much of the grounds around it from the carriage's current angle, but there were definitely gardens on either side, bleeding into woods and hills in the distance. She knew from the maps they'd found that several small towns and villages were somewhere beyond those hills. Whether or not they would be able to get to one of them was another matter. As was the question of whether any of them had portals. Cameron hadn't found any sort of guide to portals beyond the city.
The house drew her attention back, the sheer size of it demanding focus, as they came to a halt on a strip of blinding white gravel opposite the portico that sheltered the front door. Sophie shielded her eyes from the sun and tried to count the windows to get some idea of exactly how big the house was. But she lost count when the front doors opened and a small army of servants, clad in a more subdued version of the blue on the flag, marched out and headed to the carriage.
The man leading the charge wore a long jacket in the same blue and matching trousers rather than the breeches the servants wore. The jacket was frogged in gold and silver, suggesting seniority, and his straighter-than-a-flagpole posture hinted that he might have been a soldier many years ago when his hair hadn't been gleaming white as it was now. He stopped a few feet away from the carriage and began directing the others with a brisk series of orders.
Men moved to hold the horses, others to gather the luggage, and the final two, who were dressed only a fraction less magnificently than the man—what was the word in Illvyan, a seneschal?—giving the directions stepped up to the door, one unfolding the steps and the other swinging the door open before stepping back to hold it in place.
At that, the white-haired man stepped up to the door and bowed. "Welcome home, Your Grace," he said and held out a hand.
Imogene rose from her seat, took the proffered hand, and descended from the carriage briskly. "Barteau, how good to see you." She turned back to the carriage and waved a hand. "These are our guests, Lord and Lady Scardale."
"Lady Scardale." Barteau bowed deeply, then straightened and held out his hand again. Sophie, after Cameron made no move to go before her, rose and allowed herself to be helped down the stairs, blinking against the brightness of the day. Barteau guided her to Imogene's side, and then turned and bowed again.
"Lord Scardale," he said as the soft squeak of carriage springs and a crunch of gravel told Sophie that Cameron had joined them. Barteau stepped back to allow the other two servants to raise the stairs and close the door once more before he inspected the luggage racks as though to satisfy himself that nothing remained to be removed, before issuing another order to the driver who urged the horses forward in response. The carriage began to roll away. The servants carrying their small mountain of luggage were disappearing in a neat procession back to the house.
Sophie had spent much of the past three days being fitted and poked and prodded and more than once accidentally jabbed with pins. Helene had presented her with more than a week's worth of clothes-day dresses and evening gowns and riding habits and such—with the promise that more would be awaiting her when she returned. Another thing to feel guilty about. Hopefully Aristides would still pay the clothier if Sophie didn't return to collect the fruits of Helene's hard work.
Somewhere carefully buried in one of the trunks were the small bags she and Cameron had arrived in Illvya with. They'd fill those with what they could when they left, including some of the trims from Helene's beautiful dresses. Lace and gold work and beading was expensive. They could sell it to help fund their flight.
But as much as she was dismayed by the thought of the gowns going to waste—and somewhat concerned by the underlying message that Aristides thought she needed a much grander wardrobe—the part of her ingrained in the need to put on a display in court was glad she wouldn't be wearing plain gray wool and cotton while spending time with Imogene. Who had brought with her more trunks than Cameron and Sophie combined.
As the carriage turned out of sight around the house, Barteau brought his attention back to them. "Your Grace, His Grace is inside. He was finishing up some business when the outrider came with the message you were arriving."
"Of course he was," Imogene said, but she sounded happy, not annoyed. "Did you prepare the Lily Room for our guests?"
"Yes, Your Grace. All is ready."
"Excellent. I don't know what I would do without you. You go on ahead, I will show our guests the way."
The seneschal smiled, bowed, and then turned on his heel and strode away.
Imogene took a deep breath, shaking out her skirts, while regarding the house with a look of deep satisfaction. "I propose that we go inside, refresh ourselves, have lunch, and then we can enjoy the rest of the day."
"That sounds perfect," Sophie said. The meal they'd had at the calle felt like a distant memory. Cameron was looking around, getting the lay of the land, as was his habit in any new place, but he smiled his acquiescence.
"Then let us proceed," Imogene said. She set off across the expanse of white gravel, moving at a brisk pace. In her deep pink dress, she stood out against the house like some sort of exotic plant in a formal garden.
But no doubt she was part of the landscape here.
Sophie studied the house as they followed Imogene, trying to take it in. It had four floors in all, and she counted at least thirty windows across the front of the second floor before they got close enough that she would have had to crane her head back to keep counting.
Clearly a house built to awe and intimidate. It was also a house built over a ley line, she realized as she stepped onto the steps leading up to the door and power thrummed deep below her feet. Perhaps if she had been paying more attention, she would have felt it earlier. But there was no time to do more than register the ley line's presence as Imogene ushered them inside.
The entrance hall—though hall seemed too small a word—was as grand as the house's exterior. It was roughly circular with doors to the left and right. The latter stood open, revealing glimpses of a corridor. At the point of the circle opposite the front door, a double staircase rose, gleaming white marble stairs and bannisters curving around and up in an elegant arc.
After all the color she'd grown to expect in Illvyan buildings, the stark white—only accented by the sun falling through a round window at the peak of the dome room—was dramatic. A frame for whoever stood in the hall to greet guests.
Certainly Imogene's dress and the blue of the footmen's livery, stood out. As the initial dazzling impression settled, Sophie noticed that the walls—also white—weren't as plain as they first seemed. There were carvings running in fine bands up to the base of the dome, which was also paneled with carvings. She couldn't make out the detail from where she stood, and it would be rude to make a closer inspection. Perhaps she would get a chance to satisfy her curiosity later.
Before she could decide exactly how she might go about that, the door to their left opened. Imogene turned as a veritable giant of a man strode through, his dark clothing and hair making him stand out like a roiling storm against the white marble.
"Imogene, you have returned to me," he boomed as he crossed the room and bent to kiss Imogene's cheeks before embracing her.
